A Walk In The Forest
by Ahmeni
Summary: Nine year old Rowena Ravenclaw comes across unexpected wonders on an afternoon walk. Part one of four, this story attempts to chronicle the founding of Hogwarts school of magic.
1. Chapter 1

**The Woods Are Lovely, Dark And Deep… **

Being as she had been a good girl, and had put up with her mother's insufferable friends all afternoon, Rowena treated herself to a leisurely walk through the forest. It was a lovely day, and she relished the thrill of freedom that only a nine year old girl on a secret adventure could feel. Though she was not far from home, her father had warned her time and again that the forest was dangerous. Strange creatures made their homes there, and it was not safe to walk there alone, and certainly not at night.

But it was a bright sunny afternoon, and the evening was hours away. She would be home before mother even knew she had gone. As she picked her way carefully along the trail, she took time to notice the various shrubs and flowers that grew at the base of the birch and yew trees. She picked a small yellow posie and threaded it into her buttonhole.

She wondered if it made her look pretty. She had no looking glass to see, but put her mind to some alternate way to achieve a glance of her reflection. Smiling to herself, she thought of one almost immediately. Her mother constantly told her how bright and full of wit she was for such a young lady. This secretly pleased Rowena so that her heart swelled with pride, but her mother had also had occasion to teach lessons of humility.

Rowena was close lipped about her intelligence.

She turned to a smaller side path, knowing that it would be just a little more dangerous, but willing to take the risk. The posies were lovely, and it seemed important to her that she match her own beauty against them. She could not say why, if asked, but there was no-one there to ask her.

The path narrowed, and the large canopies of the trees grew denser. The light dimmed as she stole deeper into the forest, and she began to shiver. Without the sun to warm her, the cool air chilled the bare skin of her forearms, but the foreboding atmosphere of the forest sank deeper, gripping her bones and winding tendrils of unease around her heart.

Soon she would cross a larger path, and from there turn north. She knew the four directions. Her father had taught them to her when she was old enough to understand. She smiled at the image of him, his broad frame powerful and comforting, pointing at the sunset and telling her the sun always goes to sleep in the west, and rises in the morning in the east. Once you knew that, he said, you could face in that direction, and tell whichever direction you wanted to go.

Rowena had memorised his lesson carefully. The thought of being able to find her way was somehow empowering, as if it were the first step on the path to lifetime of freedom.

She practised until she could look anywhere on the horizon and name the direction. It had become second nature quickly, and as a result, she had never once been lost, and was very proud of both herself and her father, for having the presence of mind to teach her something so useful.

Thinking of her father focused her mind, and the mild panic she had been feeling passed. The trees suddenly gave way to a pretty glade, where the foliage was considerably thinner. The sun shone through the gaps and melted away the last of her fear.

The path continued across the glade, but it was now less than a hundred steps to the cross path, in her estimation. She counted aloud as she stepped into the glade, for her father had also taught her numbers, and words. She knew many words; she loved everything about them… the sound of them in her mind; the small explosions of meaning which changed and twisted as they were strung together. She could write her name, and knew the alphabet by heart.

She had counted to fifty-six when she suddenly became silent. A sound from ahead had startled her. What was she thinking! The woods were dangerous… if her father had taught her anything useful, that had been the one thing he seemed most concerned about. Rowena remained as silent as possible, waiting for any other sign that she was not alone. It seemed like an hour that she waited, but was probably more like four minutes. The spots of sunlight on the path had barely moved.

She tentatively stepped forward, hoping that it must have been her imagination, or perhaps a falling pine cone.

She nodded to herself. A falling pine cone! Of course that must have been what it was! Her panic subsided once more, and she moved slowly forwards, eager to find the wider path. Another thirty-two steps brought her to the edge of the path (she counted silently), and she looked both ways along it, in case any wild animal might be lurking. There were none, as far as she could see, and she chided herself for being a scaredy-cat, now feeling more comfortable, and beginning to enjoy the game.

She turned to the north, to follow the path to the lake…

And found herself with the point of a sword resting on her throat. She stopped, gasping, shocked and suddenly very afraid.

"Halt!" cried a muffled voice.

Rowena had time to take stock of the figure threatening her. The voice was muffled because the figure wore a steel helm, the visor closed. He wore a leather jerkin, tied with a belt around the waist, tucked into which she could see various weapons… daggers, sticks, and what appeared to be a small blacksmith's hammer.

Upon further inspection, she noticed that the weapons were dull, and, suddenly, it struck her. They were made of wood. She looked up at the helm, which wobbled slightly, before moving her eyes along his shoulder and arm to the blade he held pointed at her throat.

It was also carved from wood. Rowena frowned.

Not very well. Whoever had made this had done a very rough job.

And then she realised the helm was at the same level as her own head. She fixed it with a cold stare.

"Why should I?"

"I'll chop your head off! That's why!"

"Oh? With your wooden sword? Or perhaps you'll use your wooden dagger?"

"I am a great knight, in search of a wizard! It's said that there's one living in the woods. Tell me where he is!"

Rowena took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"You're not a knight. You look silly." She began to giggle.

The little knight retracted his sword and stuffed it into his belt clumsily.

"I do not. I am a great warrior, and I'm going to find the wizard, and chop his head off, and steal his wand."

"All this chopping off heads! Do warriors really chop off people's heads?"

The knight contemplated silently. His helm wobbled this way and that.

"I suppose." He said. "Father told me about Launcelot. He was a great warrior, and I bet he chopped lots of people's heads off. Anyway, what are you doing here? No-one's supposed to be here. It's the woods and it's dangerous."

"I'm going for a walk. I might ask you the same thing, I've never come across anyone here before."

"I told you, I'm looking for a great wizard, so I can steal his wand and do magic. Do you want to help? What's your name, anyway?"

"My name is Rowena. I live in the village."

"Oh." Said the knight. He reached up and with some difficulty pulled the helmet off his head, revealing a boy of about the same age as Rowena, perhaps a year or two older. A shock of dark red hair fell around his shoulders messily.

"I'm Godric. Do you want to help me look for the wizard?"

"There's no such thing as wizards, silly. They're all just tales."

"Are so wizards! Father says there was a great wizard, long ago, maybe twenty or a hundred years ago. He was King Arthur's wizard, and his name was Maerlin. My dad says he was our ancestor, and we can do magic. He disappeared, Maerlin, and it's said he hides somewhere in these woods, and if you catch him, and get his wand, you'll be able to do magic, proper magic, not just pretend."

"Really?" Rowena raised an eyebrow. "You can do magic?"

"Well," said Godric. "Father says we're supposed to. But I've never done it."

Rowena nodded her head.

"Well I don't believe in magic." She said. "That's all just stories too."

But Rowena's heart skipped madly in her chest. She had been able to do magic since the age of three. Her father had told her to hide it, and that she must never use it, or speak of it. But on occasion, she liked to experiment. When she was six she had caused a rosebud to spring suddenly forth into bloom one cool Sunday morning, just by running her finger along it. The rose bushes were sparse, and the bloom looked so lonely. She had smiled to herself, and had walked along the rows, stroking each bud gently as she passed, leaving a trail of red roses as she walked up and down. Her father, passing and noticing what she was doing, had run to her, and shaken her shoulders hard enough to make her cry.

"Bad! Bad!" He hadn't seemed to be able to say anything else. Rowena did not know the word 'apoplectic' but would have grasped its meaning instinctively if someone had muttered it and pointed at her father.

He sent her indoors to her cot, and she hadn't been fed dinner that night, or been allowed outside for several days. When she was finally granted freedom once more, it was to her horror that she found the rose bushes cut down, and bare earth in their place. She burst into tears at the sight, and ran back indoors.

Her father had taken her on his lap, and hugged her and kissed her tears away. He had explained, as carefully as he could, what might happen if she was ever caught doing what she was doing (he would not say the word, as if it were a talisman of doom) and what would happen to the rest of her family, as well.

"But they were beautiful! The roses were so beautiful daddy! Why would we be in trouble for making beautiful roses?"

Rowena's father had nodded sadly. Then his face had turned hard. She had never seen such an expression directed at her, and certainly not from her father.

"If you _ever _do that again, I'll send you away! Forever! Do you understand?" He raised his hand, not to hit her, but as a warning that if she ignored him there would be plenty of it.

Rowena had burst into fresh tears, but this time her father had stood and left her to cry. He paced silently from the room, shutting the door behind him.

She had only ever experimented when she was sure she was alone after that. And she never spoke of it.

Rowena stared at Godric.

"Anyway," she said, "how did you think you were going to take a great wizard's wand, with only your wooden weapons? Do you think they'll be enough against his magic?"

"I am a great warrior. My weapons are my tools. Father says the greatest weapon is the mind. He says if you rely on that, then your tools will always be enough for the job."

"Well, Godric, you have a very wise father. Why don't you take his advice and put your 'greatest weapon' to some real use, like learning some manners. Who told you it was alright to go sticking your sword in a lady's throat?"

Godric looked suitably chastened. "Sorry," he muttered.

Rowena smiled. The boy was younger than her, in his mind, but she liked him instinctively. There was a great strength about him that she couldn't put her finger on.

"It's only play, I know…" Said Godric. "I like to have adventures, and do brave things. My father does brave things every day. I want to be like him. If I can find Maerlin's wand, I can give it to him, and we'll be able to do magic again."

If Rowena had any doubts about the boy, they vanished after his candid confession. She could relate to wanting to please her father. Painfully so. Her father was everything to her, so much larger than life. He had taught her every useful thing she knew, and it was a rapidly growing list.

Godric's statement made her see him in a new light. This strange, silly boy had crossed from stranger, to acquaintance, to friend in the course of a small conversation. The realisation changed her heart.

"Alright," she said. "I'll help you then, Godric. Where do you think we'll find old Maerlin?"

Godric's face brightened as if a dark cloud had suddenly lifted above him.

"Really? You'll help me?"

"Yes, but we need a plan. We can't catch a wizard just by blundering into the woods now, can we, even if we do have lots of weapons. Do you know anything at all about where he'd be?" Rowena pointed towards the forest. She went on,

"I thought I knew every villager and their children – and their dogs if the truth be known. But I haven't seen you before. Are you from the village? If you are, then you'll know the stories about the forest…"

Godric smiled, a little sadly, Rowena thought.

"You look pretty," he said suddenly. The look on his face suggested the words had slipped from his mouth unbidden.

Rowena flushed slightly, but smiled.

"With the posie… it makes your eyes look nice." Godric stammered. The truth was, he had never seen anything so beautiful as the girl before him. Her long black hair and pale skin accented her ruby lips in a way that Godric found to be quite unusually distracting.

"My family have just arrived here. Father told me about the wizard, but I haven't heard any other stories. We come from far away…"

"Ah, I wondered why I haven't noticed your face before," she said, in a way that made Godric wonder if she thought his face was somehow memorable or special. It gave him a little more confidence, so he went on;

"Father is a master craftsman. He works in wood, and can build anything. We travel a good deal, and are often not in one place long. What stories are there of the forest? Father only told me it was where Maerlin had come to hide."

"Well," said Rowena. "There are dangerous things in the forest, more than a few. It's said that ghostly horses roam there, Thestrals, and you can only see them if you've seen death up close. And Centaurs. There are bands of them, and they carry weapons. Believe me Godric, you do not want to say the wrong thing to a Centaur. And there are Giants…"

"I'm not afraid…" said Godric, puffing his chest out slightly. "I have my sword."

Rowena looked down at Godric's rough wooden sword, and tried not to burst into fresh giggles.

"Well, lets just hope we don't come across any Giants." She smiled.

"It's lucky you met me," said Godric. "Now I can protect you. What were you doing here by yourself anyway?"

"I was going for a walk to the lake." She said. She didn't offer any information as to why. It didn't matter now. Godric thought the posie made her look pretty.

Godric smiled back. He liked her accent. She was from the north. He had known people from the north before, but they had been rugged and brash. Rowena was anything but brash. And her beauty was quite the opposite of rugged. Godric thought he had never seen finer features on anyone.

As neither could think of anything further to say, they walked slowly together along the path, into the forest. Before a minute had passed, they had disappeared into the deepening gloom.

Godric, by instinct more than anything else, took Rowena's hand as the sunlight faded. They followed the path for ten minutes or more in silence, creeping and trying to look everywhere at once; Godric for any sign of an ancient wizard; Rowena, more practically, for any sign of Centaurs or Giants.

So far the most dangerous creature they had seen was a hedgehog ambling unhurriedly across the path. The creature stopped and looked when it heard them, but apparently found them no threat. It continued on its way and disappeared into the underbrush.

The sun had dropped lower in the sky. Rowena realised that if they didn't start back soon, night would fall before they could get safely back home. She did not want to be found missing at suppertime. Apart from the fact she was hungry, her parents would be frantic, and, when located, she would be in a good deal of trouble.

Godric caught her eye, motioned her to be silent, and pointed to the right, in front of them.

Rowena froze. She had never seen anything like the creature who proudly stood before her. It was a large white horse, with a single, spiral horn sprouting from its forehead.

A unicorn!

It gazed at them curiously, without fear. Neither Rowena nor Godric had ever seen a real live unicorn before. Very few people had; unicorns were usually shy creatures, and kept their distance from most other creatures.

As they stared, unblinking, another unicorn trotted up behind the first, and whinnied, shaking his head.

All thoughts of hurrying home were banished. Rowena could think of nothing but how beautiful the equines were, such proud thick manes, and rippling muscles. Rowena had been told that it was great good luck to see a unicorn, and that they only appeared to people who were possessed of a higher purpose. She did not know whether her parents had made it up, or if it were legend, but at that moment, she felt very special indeed.

Godric's eyes were bulging, and his mouth hung open. He had come in the woods to play… His father was working, and would be until well after nightfall. His mother, when he left her, had been fast asleep on her cot. The pungent scent escaping her lips with each snore was familiar to him. His mother was enamored of strong waters, and spent much of her time under their influence.

Godric made no moral judgement against his mother. He knew in his heart that she was weak, but he refused to believe that her weakness could not be overcome. He had tried many times to hide the bottle, to no avail. His mother always had another, concealed here or there.

The idea of looking for Maerlyn had been an attractive one. It involved adventure on an afternoon free of boredom. And it offered a way out of his family's misery… If he could find the wizard, and somehow take his wand.

Never had he imagined that he would witness not one, but two unicorns. His heart beat crazily in his chest, and Rowena was squeezing his hand so tightly that his fingers ached. He did not complain. He wouldn't have complained if she had cracked all the bones in his hand. Holding Rowena's hand was quite as big a thrill for Godric as seeing the unicorns.

The large white horses walked closer. They whinnied softly and snorted, shaking their heads up and down, until they stood just a few feet away from the spellbound children.

Godric was first to react. He stepped slowly forward, and held out his hand for the unicorns to scent. The closest one nuzzled his hand and licked it. Rowena giggled.

The second unicorn stamped the ground softly with his hoof. He snorted, and moved forward, nudging the children apart, then each unicorn knelt, and looked at the children. Their purpose was obvious enough.

They wanted the children to climb on.

Godric and Rowena stared at each other, unable to speak. Again, Godric acted first, and straddled the male's back. Rowena could do little else but climb on the female. She was both wildly excited and very afraid. But she found herself unable to refuse, and she did not believe the unicorns meant them any harm. She had never once heard of anyone riding a unicorn.

The great white creatures stood, and took off at a slow trot. Godric and Rowena held handfuls of mane to stay balanced, but found that they could ride easily. The unicorns seemed to know how to hold them still.

Both children, after a few minutes, felt safe.

But the unicorns were headed somewhere, deep in the woods. They trotted for several miles. As they rounded a corner, a small band of Centaurs stood, blocking their path. The unicorns slowed and stopped.

The Centaurs, after a moment, parted to let them through. The leader bowed as Godric and Rowena passed.

As they began to trot again, Rowena looked up at the sky. It was dimming quickly; the sun had disappeared a short time ago, and soon it would be dark. She looked to Godric, and pointed.

"We won't be home before nightfall…" she said.

Godric shrugged. There seemed little they could do.

Soon after however, the unicorns came to a halt. Both kneeled slowly. Clearly the children were to get off. The woods around them were wreathed in shadows. Rowena and Godric stayed close as the unicorns stood, whinnied, nodded their heads, and trotted off, disappearing down the trail.

"What now?" Said Rowena. They had felt safe because of the unicorns, but had not expected to be abandoned deep in the woods by them. The light was fading quickly, and Rowena suddenly realised they had no torch. The woods would simply swallow them up.

Godric looked left and right. He stared down the trail where the unicorns had disappeared, and looked back the way they had come. They must have travelled for miles. Neither child had any clue where they were.

"Well," said Godric, "They're unicorns. And unicorns are supposed to be intelligent. They wouldn't have done this to harm us, I don't think so anyway. Maybe they wanted us to find something here?"

"Maybe," said Rowena, not sounding convinced. "Or maybe they just didn't realise we wouldn't be safe… I think we'd better start heading back."

"Alright," said Godric. He took her hand, and they began to walk back the way they had come. Soon the shadows would swallow the path entirely, and they would be lost.

"I wish we had light…" Said Rowena. "I'm scared Godric."

A voice, deep and sonorous, suggested from somewhere behind them, "Why don't you make some light then?"

The children halted in their tracks, and once again, Rowena squeezed Godric's hand painfully tight.

"Go on then, children. You're both more than capable." The speaker had still not revealed himself.

Neither child moved or spoke.

"As you wish. I shall do it then."

The speaker muttered a word neither Godric nor Rowena had ever heard, and, instantly, a ball of white light appeared, a dozen feet away to their left. It slowly drew closer, and with it, it's maker.

He was a small man, bald, beardless and ancient. His skin was sallow with age, and his robes were stained and dirty. He wore a smile, benevolent and friendly.

"Glad tidings, children. I have been expecting you."

Godric, perhaps because he had boasted that he wanted to be brave, spoke first."

"Who are you, sir? How could you have been expecting us? We were not expecting to come."

"Ah wisely spoken. Indeed you were not. And yet, you are here, as I expected. Come children. The woods are not safe after dark. Stay close, we don't have far to go."

They followed almost instinctively. The orders of grown ups were rarely to be questioned, but their curiosity, and the opportunity to find a safe haven, were factors that motivated them just as strongly.

The tiny path led them, after a few minutes, to a small clearing. The light revealed square stones at their feet, and in the surrounding dimness, Godric could make out stone walls, that looked as if they were in ruins. They were standing in what could only be the ruins of an ancient castle.

They walked on, and shortly came to a stone staircase that led down into a chamber, to what once must have been the dungeons or storage area of the castle. The stairway opened into a large room, though the roof was low enough that Godric could reach up and touch it. A doorway in the wall to the left led to a smaller, cosier room. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, though there was no flue or chimney. The fire simply gave off light and heat, but no smoke. Inspecting this curiously, Rowena was surprised that she could see no wood or coal glowing at the base of the fire. The air above the fireplace itself appeared to be burning.

She turned to the ancient man who had led them here.

"How do you do this?" She asked, wonder in her voice.

The old man smiled wryly. "Magic, of course! Haven't you been watching, young Miss Ravenclaw?"

"Magic…" she muttered.

Godric's jaw fell open.

"Then… You… You're…"

"Maerlin. Yes, I am he. Welcome to my home."

Godric stammered. "But… it wasn't supposed to be real. Father only told me the legend. I didn't mean to come and find you."

"And yet, find me you did."

"Is magic always like this?" Asked Godric.

"Often, yes." Said Maerlin. "There are many kinds of magic, however. Children, I must speak to you. It is no coincidence that you are here. I have much to say, but little that you would understand.

Rowena, child. Your father has forbidden you to use magic, has he not?"

Godric stared at Rowena, blinking. "But… but you said you didn't believe in magic!"

Rowena flushed.

"I lied, Godric. I'm sorry. My father made me promise not to tell."

"And why do you think he did that?" Asked Maerlin.

"I don't know… well, I do know. Witches are bad, and they get burned at the stake."

"Precisely." Said Maerlin. "But did you know, for many many years, there have been a society of witches and wizards… small and sparse to be sure, but there… They have kept themselves well secret, because the consequences of being found out would be severe and, shall we say, final.

I have lived here long, and long. The castle we stand in was once great and mighty. It is protected, by charms and illusions. But my health fails. I am not the magician I once was, and I fear younger blood is needed to carry the torch.

Children. Both of you have power… Magic. Both of you will learn to excel. I have watched you both, since your early childhood. Do not ask how. You would not understand. But I have watched.

Children. I am in my final years. Death will be welcome when it comes. But I offer you both this; Come. Learn. Do not worry about your parents. I will make sure you are not missed. All you need do is accept."

"Learn?" Asked Godric. "Learn magic?"

"Yes."

"I… cannot accept, I am afraid," Godric looked terrified. "My father… travels, for work. I am never in one place long. Soon we shall be gone from here."

"Ah, I see." Said Maerlin. "Very well. I will not keep you from your family." Maerlin looked to Rowena.

"Your parents would be none the wiser, I assure you. If I meant you harm, I would have harmed you already. I urge you to accept. You will become a wise and powerful witch, with some guidance."

Rowena did not hesitate.

"I accept." She said. "But, I'm already in a deep hole of trouble, as is Godric, I assume."

"I shall have you home before you know it, and your parents will fail to notice your absence. These things I can do. Children, take my hands, if you will?"

Godric and Rowena did as they were asked, and, a sudden, stomach spinning twist, followed by a howling as of great wind, and Rowena stood outside of her front gate. Her mother stood on the porch, and called to her to come for supper, apparently oblivious to her previous absence.

Godric and Maerlin had disappeared.

Smiling, Rowena opened the gate and kissed her mother, before going inside to clean up for the table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Godric and Salazar, three months later. Part II founders. **

**Wheels Within Wheels**

"It's amazing," said Godric's father, "how a chunk of stone no bigger than your curled fist," he pointed to Godric's hand, clenched around the broken spoke of the wagon wheel, "can ruin your whole day."

Godric looked up at the bruised and boiling sky. Several fat raindrops fell, staining the dusty track with dark, wet circles. He frowned. His father had hit the nail on the head. One small chunk of stone…

His free hand slipped into the pocket of his trousers, and he traced the edge of the flat stone that lived there with his fingertips. He had not taken it from his pocket since it had been given to him, ten weeks ago. He remembered every week clearly, as if the events had been seared into his brain. But he did not wish to dwell on them now, not when his father needed his assistance.

He was torn. His father was going to have to repair the wheel where it had broken on the track. The cart could not be moved, and it would be dark in an hour. Godric's mother lay asleep in the cart, covered with a woollen blanket, but the rain would soak her through if it got heavier, and the sky threatened heavier and worse.

They were less than three miles from their destination.

The horses grazed, glad of the chance to rest. They had been riding hard for two days, and the stallion had thrown a shoe. Godric wished that he could do more. It was frustrating, and the eleven year old boy struggled with his conscience.

After ten weeks, Godric was perfectly confident that he could fix the broken wheel. The horseshoe, also, would present no difficulty. But his father stood at his shoulder, seemingly at a loss. The spoke had cracked, and the wheel had split through. Proper repairs would take more than an hour, and the rain would make it much slower.

"Godric," he said mildly, "We shall be wet tonight, and we may not eat or stay warm."

"What about Mother?" Godric's face was expressionless, but his father knew him well enough to hear the waver in his tone.

"Mother too. Can you spy shelter? No? Neither can I. We shall all be cold, wet and hungry. All for a careless stone." Godric's father sighed.

"Father…"

"Hold here, Godric. I shall make your mother as comfortable as she can be."

Godric nodded, glad of the distraction. As his father turned to the cart, the rain began to spatter more frequently, and the smell of the coming tempest permeated the atmosphere. He waited until the tall, dark haired man had disappeared behind the back of the cart before reaching into the lining of his jerkin, and extracting the long thin yew rod that he had hidden there.

Unlike his wooden sword and dagger - tools that he had made himself, a lifetime ago - this tool was extremely finely crafted. His father, if he saw it, would gasp in wonder at the workmanship.

If he was quick, he could effect repairs before his father returned, though how he would explain the repairs was another matter. He wished Rowena were beside him. She was very smart, and would be able to think of some way to convince his father that the damage wasn't as bad as first thought… but that was simply ridiculous. The damage was plain to see, and his father had been studying it for the last twenty-five minutes.

The consequences did not seem as urgent as their current need. Godric and his father both knew that if she had to spend a night in the rain, Godric's mother might well not see the sunrise. She had become weaker in the last weeks, and was often subject to fits of delirium.

The thought spurred Godric into action. He concentrated on the broken spoke, and whispered as he touched the splintered timber with the tip of his wand. The crack sealed over, and a gold thread of magic wove itself down the spoke to the split wheel, surrounding it and shimmering, before disappearing. The damage was repaired. Godric had been concentrating hard. The sounds of the outer world had dimmed as he bent the magic to his will.

Voices behind him. He turned and looked, and was surprised to see a painted carriage pulled by two horses, stationary. The carriage had moved across to the verge to circumnavigate the crippled cart, and had stopped.

Two faces stared at him from above the rim. "Well?" said the older face.

"Sir?" Said Godric, politely.

"What do you mean by blocking the path with your… your…" The man ran his eyes along the length of the cart.

"It's our cart, sir, and it broke a wheel."

The man stared at Godric with unveiled contempt. "I see you've repaired it." He raised an eyebrow knowingly, and smiled with half his face. The other half remained grim.

Godric paled noticeably. He wasn't at all sure that he hadn't been seen. He looked down at his clenched fist, and gasped when he saw what he was clinging to. He quickly returned the wand to the folds of his jerkin, but not before both the man and his companion had seen.

Godric looked to the man and stammered, but nothing would come out. His heart was racing. Never before had he wished so fervently that Rowena was by his side. She would know what to say.

The man's companion spoke. He had a high, sweet voice, like a girl's, though his face showed him to be a boy of similar age to Godric.

"You're very clever. Perhaps we'll meet at the market on Saturday."

The man barked a command to his driver, and the carriage moved on with a rattle. Godric stared after it. The boy who had spoken stared back. Godric was struck with wonder at his face; it was dark and monkey-like, ugly beyond explanation, and yet, from the moment their eyes had met, Godric had known that this boy was somehow special… apart from others; an outsider. Like himself.

The carriage disappeared into the rain, but Godric continued to stare for long moments. His reverie was broken by his father.

"Who was that?" Godric's father looked towards where the carriage had disappeared, before shaking his head. "No matter, they had not the compassion to aid a troubled fellow and his family. Lad, we are ought but obstacles tonight…" He trailed off. His eyes had set upon the wheel, now whole and unbroken.

"It… it wasn't quite as bad as it looked…" Godric groaned inwardly. His feeble explanation wouldn't have fooled a child half his age. To his surprise, his father simply raised his eyebrows, and nodded.

"Good. Lucky for us. Let's get this back on and up to the inn, lad, before we freeze and starve."

"I fear we'll drown, first." Said Godric.

His father's face split into a wide grin, and he laughed warmly.

"And here I passed up swimming lessons from Flora McKitchen for the chance to marry your sweet mother. We'd best push on, son."

An hour later, they filled into the doorway of the Seven Bones Inn, and Godric's father engaged the innkeeper in negotiation for board and supper. It took some time. Godric tried not to eavesdrop, but couldn't help hearing the relevant points of the conversation.

The innkeeper wanted one piece of silver, and Godric knew that they had no coins at all. His father relied upon the paper reciepts that he had collected from his work as a carpenter – and these were generally accepted as legal tender – but not everyone trusted paper.

Anything was possible if you carried a purse of gold coins, but it seemed, to Godric at least, that most of the gold coins belonged to only a small number of people. His father worked as hard as any man, but he had to struggle daily just to put food on the table… when there was a table to put food upon, of course. Many nights of Godric's life had been spent underneath the moon and stars, warmed by the embers of an open fire. This had never troubled him. Indeed, he found their nomadic existence curiously exciting.

What did trouble him was the apparent divide between his own family, and the families of those his father laboured for. Godric had never been able to understand why there were a few wealthy people, and hundreds of people like himself who had to work endlessly for nothing more than the clothes on their backs, simple shelter, and dinner every night.

It just didn't seem fair.

He had asked his father about it one winter's evening, while sitting around a feeble bonfire – the melting snow made it difficult to find dry wood – and his father had looked at him for a long time before answering. He seemed to be deep in thought, and his eyes, though settled upon Godric, were far away.

"It's the way of the world, son." He said. "It's… not easy to explain to you why. I don't understand myself a lot of the time. It's the landowners, the crown, and related families. They divide the land between them, and take most of wealth for themselves, and demand tithes from the people who work the land… With that, and the church, who also demand tithes, it seems everyone but you and I gets their fair share, and when it's shared out fairly, there's near nothing left for us."

"But doesn't that make it unfair?" Godric looked genuinely perplexed.

"Aye." Godric's father would say no more on the subject.

Godric sat as his father dejectedly walked back to his side. He had clearly not been successful. He remained mute as they walked back to the cart. His father spoke, wearing a broad smile to mask the bad news that was to come;

"Aye lad, it seems they're full up. The innkeeper told me he'd love to help, but he's got nothing at all. There's another inn, a mile or two down the road, so he says, and they should have room and repast to spare…"

Godric nodded. He desperately wanted to make some excuse to not climb back on the cart, but could think of none. Given some time, he could make the required coin from a stone… If he asked to relieve himself, his father would stop out of town for the sake of modesty and hygeine. Reluctantly he took his place by his father's side as the horses slowly moved away.

Before much longer, it began to rain, and the last of the light faded to black. The moon had not yet risen, and the stormclouds masked the stars, so the darkness was complete. The only thing that lit their way were the lanterns that Godric and his father held.

Godric had always been fascinated by the lanterns that his father had crafted. The designs had come from his father's memories as a small boy – he had sailed the ocean for a time with Godric's grandfather, and the vessel had used these lanterns, which were ancient even then. They consisted of a large bronze ball, hollow, with holes at measured intervals, smaller than Godric's palm. Inside (the ball split open down the middle) were several connected rings of bronze, which, when turned this way and that, always remained level. The centre contained a deep cup, filled with oil.

The oil inside remained lit, and could not be blown out because of the concentric design. His father called them _pithekion _lamps, but hadn't been able to tell him why they were called that. Godric admired their simplicity, and tonight, he learned to appreciate their true value.

The road appeared before them, dark and treacherous, but Godric's father held a tight rein, and they made slow progress, but it was better than nothing.

They had travelled less than a mile when they first saw the blockage in the road. A carriage had somehow overturned, and lay half across the track. They could see no details; the rain was falling in sheets. Godric's father brought their cart to a halt, and stepped down. He waved Godric to stay put, and advanced slowly, holding his lantern before him.

In moments, he was back.

"Quickly lad, we have people in need of help, follow me and do as I say."

Godric alighted the cart, bringing his own lantern. The carriage was plainly the one that had passed them on the road before. If his father noticed, he did not say, but went quietly about the task of assessing what he could do.

Three bodies were sprawled to the left of the carriage. Godric's father shouted over the sound of the rain that they needed to be dealt with first, so Godric held his lantern close as his father checked for breathing.

The first, a young man who must have been the driver, was dead. Godric could tell from where he stood. His neck had broken clean, and his head hung at an angle almost perpendicular to his neck. Godric looked away. He had not seen death before, not immediate and up close. His knees threatened to give way, but he held steady when his father's strong hand fell on his shoulder.

"Aye Godric. I'm sorry you had to see that, lad. Look away, and I'll cover him."

Godric's father removed his own woollen jerkin and covered the unfortunate fellow. He called Godric to his side, and went to check the next. It was the older passenger. He had blood flowing freely from a cut on his forehead, and his lips hung slackly, revealing his long, yellowed bottom teeth. The image remained in Godric's memory forever, and from this night on, he would always secretly fear heavy storms.

"He's breathing, alright," said Godric's father, before moving to the boy. Godric feared that he would be dead too, and with the fear was a mixture of both regret and pity. Something about that boy had struck a chord in Godric. To find him dead would be unthinkable.

To Godric's relief, the boy coughed and sat up. He cried out, and Godric's father gently pushed him back into a reclined position.

"Stay still, boy, your leg's broken. We'll need to splint it before you can be moved. I'll be back in a moment," He turned to Godric.

"Lad, this boy is shocked. Keep him focussed for me till I return. The old man will recover, I think, but there's little we can do for him till he wakes."

"Aye, Father." Said Godric. He moved to the boy's side, and held the lantern close. "I'm Godric," he said, not sure what else to say. "I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner. I know you're in pain, but it'll be alright... My father will help you, and we'll get you home."

"It hurts…" The boy looked utterly miserable.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Asked Godric. "What's your name?"

"S… Salazar. I don't know. We crashed."

Godric looked back towards the wrecked carriage.

"Aye." He said. "Are you far from your destination?"

"About five miles, I think," said Salazar. "It's dark and raining, so I can't be sure. It isn't close, though."

Godric's father approached, and knelt by the boy. "Here, drink." He handed Salazar a small flask. Salazar put the flask to his lips and drank without hesitaton. His eyes were dull with pain.

He coughed violently, and spluttered.

"Easy, lad. This is strong brandy. Slow, but drink it all."

Salazar did as he was bidden, and after a short while, his expression softened.

"Now," said Godric's father, "Can you tell us where you were bound? If it isn't too far, we may be able to get you there before the morning. Boy, I promise we will try."

Salazar nodded, and haltingly gave simple directions. A large house, with a walled courtyard, and stone lions. About five miles. The boy's eyelids drooped, and before another minute had passed he was asleep.

"Brandy, strengthened with the root of the valerian herb. The boy will sleep through the pain, for a time. We must get them on the cart, Godric." He reached for two stout branches that he had brought along with the flask, and fashioned a splint on Salazar's leg. The boy slept through, which was fortunate. Godric heard the bones in the boy's leg grind as his father straightened it.

"All of them?" He said. His father followed his gaze.

"Aye lad, him too. We can't leave him for the crows, it wouldn't be civilised. First though, we must see what can be made of this accident. It's a mystery that requires clearing before we move on. Come, let's have a look."

They held their lanterns before them, and moved to the front of the carriage. A black horse stood, a large gash on its flank bleeding profusely. Godric's father inspected it, and shook his head. "This horse needs attention, He won't make it back." He turned the lantern to the roadway, and Godric gasped. The second horse, a chestnut mare, lay, her eyes wide with shock and pain. Her foreleg was broken through. She was shivering. Godric's father knelt by her head and stroked her ears gently. The horse nickered in fear, as if she could read his thoughts.

Godric's lip quivered. Seeing an animal in such distress made his stomach turn to water. He felt as if it were a dream from which he desperately wanted to awake.

"She can't be left, Godric. I am sorry. Hold here." Godric's father walked back to the cart. Godric whispered harshly "No!" but his father was out of earshot. Without thinking further, Godric kneeled before the helpless animal, and produced his wand. He fondled the horses neck, and whispered in her ear that he would help her as he wove his magic, knitting the bone of her leg into something that he imagined was a healthy limb. He finished, exhausted after several concentrated minutes. Godric shut his eyes and collected himself for a moment. When he opened them again, he sighed.

His father stood, holding his lantern before him, expressionless.

"Lad. We need to talk. But not now."

The mare whinnied, and stood. She shook her mane, and stamped her hoof, as if testing it. Godric's father stared numbly at the horse. He had seen the injury; this time there was no explanation for Godric's action.

Godric stood, wondering what he could say. He looked stupidly down at his wand, and back at his father, but still no words would come. His father moved the lantern to the second horse, but before he could properly illuminate the creature's wound, there was a loud crack, as of thunder.

A flash of lightning split the darkness, and coalesced into a solid ball of white light. As the flash faded from their eyes, the outlines of a figure in flowing robes could be seen slowly moving towards them.

"Greetings, Godric. I see the temptation to use your gift has surpassed the circumstances within your control. We have talked about this, and I did warn you that this would arise. I can repair this, Godric, if you so desire, or I can mediate, without intervening." The old wizard stopped, as if he needed explain himself no further.

But Godric understood implicitly. They had talked about how to keep his growing powers a secret from his family. Godric had thought hastily that it would present no difficulty, but ten weeks had barely passed, and here stood Godric with a wand, in plain view of his father.

Maerlin had said he could repair it. Godric knew he meant that he could blot the memories of all those here. It would be a way out of his predicament, but then… Maerlin had offered counselling also. And Godric knew his father well.

It almost seemed to him that he had wanted to be caught doing magic. As if the enormity of his training was too big to contain… and his father was the one person in the world who Godric needed to share such a large secret with.

He turned to his father, and spoke. His voice did not waver, though his stomach quivered with butterflies.

"Father. May I introduce a… friend. He is Maerlin, the wizard."

Godric's father stood to his full height, and surveyed the old man carefully.

"Do you claim this to be the truth?" He asked.

"It is true." Said the old man. Something in his tone was utterly convincing.

"Then the legends are real. There is magic. I never quite believed it. Is it also true that our bloodlines are connected, as passed down from father to son?"

"It is true." Said the old man once more. "Meliadus Gryffindor. It is high time we met, and I wish it were under better circumstances… Nevertheless. I have the power to aid, here. I must tend to these people. Godric! Come, I shall show you how you erred."

Godric glanced at his father, who moved aside rather theatrically, and gestured them to pass with an outstretched arm. Godric often wondered about his father. Sometimes his behaviour, though never menacing or threatening, was inexplicable.

He followed the ancient wizard and knelt by him as he tended the boy.

"Now then, young Godric… You did good work with the horse, good work! But you worked too hard. The magic inside you requires concentration, but you forced the magic to knit the bone to your will. That was a mistake, you should have allowed the bone to knit itself. Wind the magic around the bone, like so," Maerlin touched his wand to the boy's leg, "And release… You see? The bone knits itself, the effort you spent was noble, but unnecessary. Good magic requires simplicity, Godric, and that's the very hardest thing to master. Magic is a craft, like any art. One must practice constantly. The magic must be your very nature. Do you understand?"

"Y… No. Not completely. I understand some."

"Good." Said Maerlin. "I would not have believed your initial yes, nor any argument of it. You do not understand, and that is the point. Think about what I have said, and over time understanding will unveil itself. Practice anyway you can, as much as you can. But practice alone will not make you a good wizard. Tell me why that is?"

Godric thought for a moment before answering.

"Because magic is a tool, and is only as effective as the mind that wields it."

"Well spoken Godric." Maerlin turned to Godric's father, who was watching in silence a few paces away. "Meliadus. You have taught the boy well. He could not have wished for a better guardian. Godric, remember that you are the magic. Who you are is who your magic will be. It is a great responsibility that rests upon your shoulders."

Godric nodded.

He had been getting used to this from Maerlin. Ten weeks past, the wizard had appeared to Godric in a dream. He had led Godric, in the dream, into a garden, filled with decorative flowers and sweet smelling herbs. Taking a seat upon a pair of large stones, Maerlin had offered Godric a toffee. Godric took it and looked at it in wonder. He had never seen such a thing. Maerlin bade him eat it, and popped a piece into his own mouth, and smiled as he worked the sweet around.

Maerlin had talked with him, on various random subjects; the changing of the seasons, and the approach of the solstice, the state of chaos that threatened to engulf them from a neighbouring district, at war with another neighbour… Finally Godric had looked at Maerlin, and asked, "Am I dreaming this? Or are you making me dream it?"

Maerlin had merely grinned impishly. He had pointed somewhere over Godric's shoulder. Godric turned to look, and saw, just outside the gates of the garden, another approaching. He smiled involuntarily. Even from this distance she was a shining radiant jewel. Her red lips and dark, celtic eyes appeared in stark relief to her pale face, and Godric felt something in his chest shift uncomfortably… Rowena made him feel like no-one else had ever done.

"Hello Godric," Rowena was there, with him, smiling back. "You should come to lessons, you know. Maerlin tells me you will be the best wizard in the country, if you decide to learn."

Godric stammered for a moment. Her beauty had rendered him temporarily mute, but he was aware that he was still inside a dream, and just thinking that gave him the courage to speak to her like he had every right to do.

"Hello Rowena," he smiled. "I wish I could… but my parents. I can't leave them. Mother needs me.

"Godric," Said Maerlin. "I do not wish to force you to take lessons, by any means. I would not do such a thing. But I will make sure your parents are well cared for in your short absences, and you shall be returned to them after every lesson." Maerlin held his hand out – it was closed around something, and he nodded for the boy to accept it.

Godric held out his own hand and caught the smooth, flat stone that Maerlin dropped into his palm.

"I have enchanted this stone, for you. If you rub it between your left thumb and forefinger, you'll be transported to your father's side instantly! I worked on it for awhile, so don't lose it! Keep it in your right pocket, or you'll find yourself being whisked away every time you reach for your kerchief… This should convince you that it's safe to come to lessons… And of course, I wouldn't have to put up with Rowena asking if we can come and get you every five minutes. I think she's taken a liking, you know…"

Godric stammered, and looked away… anywhere but at Rowena, who was smiling, and almost as red-cheeked as he himself felt.

"I will come." Said Godric.

And it had been decided.

Blinking, Godric looked down at young Salazar. He was slowly coming around – the application of magic had apparently also driven the anaesthetic from his system.

The boy groaned softly, and his eyes sprang open. He looked around at the figures surrounding him, and then down at his repaired leg.


End file.
